


I Wanted to Be

by coricomile



Category: Inception
Genre: Domestic, M/M, post cannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-25
Updated: 2012-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-31 17:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With James on one side and Phillipa and her squash in the other, Arthur leads them through the streets with a casual care. He’ll never stop looking over his shoulder for danger, for the people that mean him and his harm, but the urgency has faded into the background over the past year, a dull throb instead of a sharp jab.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wanted to Be

Autumn is cold this year, settling deep into Arthur’s bones every time he steps outside. The streets are beautiful, the high-class suburb covered in red and orange and yellow leaves, the trees going bare early. The sky smells like rot and motor oil, the softness of the numerous carved pumpkins catching him unawares every few blocks. Chicago had been his home, once, and he finds being back in it comforting and disquieting all at once.

The place that had once upon a time been his had been razed, his childhood going up in smoke and splinters, nothing left behind. He passes it occasionally on his way to the school, just to see if he can remember. Usually he doesn’t. It stopped bothering him a long time ago.

Phillipa has a squash colored with crayons under one arm when he reaches the elementary school. The squash is nearly the size of her arm, yellow and bulbous and under ripe. She’s drawn a squiggly smiley face on it with giant eyes, the mouth in blue and the eyes in green. She shoves it proudly into Arthur’s hands when he gets close and smiles proudly.

“We’ll put him in the window with the others,” Arthur says, wrapping his fingers around the stem. This is the third one in the week, and the others are becoming soft. Halloween is only three days away, but he worries that they’ll all rot away before the night comes. 

James, thankfully, comes out empty handed. He’s going through a bit of a growth spurt, and his jeans don’t quite meet his sneakers. He refuses to stop wearing them, even though Arthur and Dom both have brought him identical pairs in larger sizes. He has his mother’s stubbornness, if nothing else.

With James on one side and Phillipa and her squash in the other, Arthur leads them through the streets with a casual care. He’ll never stop looking over his shoulder for danger, for the people that mean him and his harm, but the urgency has faded into the background over the past year, a dull throb instead of a sharp jab.

Not saying that Phillipa and James are _his_ , of course. 

After the Fischer job, it seemed best to stay with Cobb, if only for a few weeks. He’d gone through a giant step in his life, took action in moving away from Mal’s death. Arthur had thought that having a familiar face around would be good for him, would help his transition back into his old life. And it did. And Arthur- Arthur just never left.

The front yard has gone a bit yellow. Arthur thinks maybe they should fix it, maybe treat it. Snow will be around soon, Chicago winter bitter and viscous, but he can’t let it go. Without work, he’s been picking at home repairs and gardening idly. He misses the chase some days, but usually he’s happy enough in the back yard with a good glass of wine and a stack of homework to look over.

Dom’s laid out the evening snack on the dining room table and James and Phillipa scurry to it, their backpacks hitting the floor in a heap along with their jackets. Arthur shoves them to the side with his foot on his way to the living room. As promised, the squash goes into the window with the others, its little face pointing out towards the driveway.

Dom's car is gone from the drive, missing between the SUV and Arthur's sleek Mini Cooper. He's gone out to buy costumes for the kids, filled with the sort of glee only a parent can really feel. He missed last Halloween, stuck on a plane somewhere in Argentina, unable to come home for fear of imprisonment. Arthur had come instead and took little pirate James and princess Phillipa door to door, wishing the whole while it wasn't him at all.

Phillipa spills her juice on the floor, and the act of cleaning it up filters Arthur's guilt away.

\---

Being out of work doesn't mean Arthur doesn't dream anymore.

He misses travel, all the exotic places and people that he's come across in the last decade of being Cobb's point man. There are maps of Uruguay and Indonesia in his closet, a globe with countless pushpins on his dresser cataloging all the places he's been before.

Tonight he's in London, chatting with someone who talks like Eames and sounds like Cobb. The pub is loud, full of smoke and liquor and adults. He loves James and Phillipa as his own, but it's been a long time since he was a child and they're exhausting. 

The liquor all tastes of cherries, fresh and ripe and sweet, burning down to the pit of his belly without the aftertaste. There are benefits to the dream, he supposes. Someone plays Billy Idol on the jukebox, and Arthur is unamused to hear the opening strains of _Dancing With Myself._ His subconscious is a trifle irritating.

A pretty young blonde stops next to him, her hair swept up into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. Her shoulders are bare, pale and soft looking under the glow of the bar lights. She smiles with a petal pink mouth and leans in close enough that Arthur can see down the sweetheart neckline of her silk dress.  
"Buy me a drink?" She asks, her voice lilting and entirely out of place. He's getting rusty. 

"Gladly," he replies anyway. No use in arguing it. His skills aren't his livelihood anymore, and this pretty young thing rivals some of Eames' best work. Arthur will take what he can get.

The blonde rests her hand on Arthur's thigh, high up and with intentions clear as Arthur leans over the bar to get the tender's attention. Even in dreams the service is poor.

Just as he's signaling the barkeep for another shot and a new drink for the lady, something high pitch and ferocious rips through the dreamscape. It comes again, and Arthur knows that noise. He could pick that sound out from a million others if he was deaf.

"Damn it," he says, and promptly wakes up.

Phillipa is having a nightmare. They come less often these days, but they're still there, present every week or so. Arthur hurries to her room without bothering to look in on James. He'll be in the room in the next few minutes anyway. 

Dom is already scooping Phillipa up, his bare arms going around her and holding her to his chest. He looks pained, face screwed into regret. He's never sank down low enough to invade his daughter's dreams, but he doesn't have to. It's clear to all of them what she sees in the night, and there's nothing any of them can do but wait for the morning to wash the after image away.

Arthur climbs dutifully into Phillipa's twin bed next to Dom, his leg pressed to Cobb's through their pajama pants. It's easy being this close to him now, something that Arthur had never imagined years and years ago. He takes Phillipa's hand into his and presses a kiss to her temple, listening to Dom's stream of soothing words.

As sure as rain, James comes through the door minutes later, one fist rubbing at his eyes, the other dragging a familiar purple frog along beside him. He staggers into the room and up into Arthur's lap, curling up against Arthur's chest. He's been sucking his thumb lately- a filthy habit that he refuses to stop- and Arthur can feel the open wetness of James' mouth against his bare chest as he settles in.

When Phillipa manages to fall asleep again, Dom finally looks over at him. 

The years have seemed to melted off Dom's face, gone ever since he saw his children again. The lines around his eyes and mouth have gone from mournful to happy. Smile lines instead of worry lines. Still, there's a touch of grey hair mixing in with the blonde at his temples and when he moves to readjust Phillipa, his back creaks loud enough for Arthur to hear.

"She's getting better," Arthur whispers, mouth to James' head. He won't be able to move until morning, and his own back will ache all day. The soft hiccups of Phillipa's breath are worth it, though, and he knows Cobb is thinking the same thing. Dom is silent, watching. When Arthur's mostly asleep, he thinks he hears Dom rumble a soft _thank you._

\---

The lovely blonde doesn't come back when Arthur tries again. Instead, there's a handsome man in a cardigan. 

"For you," he says, voice like thunder against Arthur's ear. He hands him a rum and Coke, and Arthur knocks it back quick enough to choke. He's not going to give this the chance to fail.

"Want to head somewhere else?" Arthur asks. And the man nods- of course he does- and takes Arthur's hand as they leave the bar.

It's better than jerking off in the bathroom, but Arthur still feels unsatisfied when he wakes up to Dom calling him down for dinner.

\---

"You don't have to spend all your time here," Dom says one night over beer. James and Phillipa have been sent to their grandparents for the weekend, and the house is unnaturally silent. Arthur misses the chaos a little.

"I like it here," Arthur says. It's truth, too, so there's no reason for the squint-eyed look Dom gives him.

"If you'd like to go out, or-" He pauses and has the grace to look embarrassed, "or if you'd like to bring someone home, I could make myself scarce."

"Have you been dream dropping?" Arthur asks, too tired to be scandalized. Cobb shrugs and stares at the label of his beer. "I'm not- Look, I'm fine, alright?" Dom doesn't look up and Arthur doesn't make him. "The offer goes both ways. If you need to." Arthur sucks down the last of his Coors and tries t ignore the twist of his gut at Dom's short nod.

They don't speak of it again.

\---

When James comes down with chickenpox, Dom and Phillipa are forced to flee the house. Arthur, who had them when he was nine, packs a bag for each of them and sends them to his favorite bed and breakfast. Phillipa is excited, but it pains Cobb to leave.

"You won't be any good to him if you're sick, too," Arthur points out. Dom runs a hand through his hair and looks in at where James is sleeping on the couch. "I'll take good care of him."

"I know," Dom says, the conviction in his voice making Arthur swell a little with pride. "I just-"

"I know." And, really, Arthur does. "It'll be a week a most. Go. I'll have him call when he wakes up." For a long moment, Dom stands in the doorway with his bag and Phillipa's backpack, watching James' little chest rise and fall. Then, he wraps his arms around Arthur's chest and holds him tight.

"Thank you," he says. Arthur pats his back and breathes in the familiar scent of home.

After the promised phone call, Arthur lets James eat ice cream and watch cartoons until past his bedtime. He remembers the itchy, painfulness of it all, and James is much more pliable when Arthur dumps him into an oatmeal bath later.

"I'm happy you're here," James says, sleepy and full of Tutti Fruity. He yawns, wide and childish, and Arthur thinks me too. "Dad's happy you're here, too."

Dom calls too many times during his exile, and when he's allowed to come back he gathers them both up like he's been gone for years instead of days. 

\---

Arthur is drunk.

He feels loose and happy, the tension in his shoulders gone somewhere else for the night. He hasn't been drunk outside of his dreams for a long time, and he hasn't realized until just now how much he's missed it.

Ariadne's in town, visiting the city on a whim, and Arthur hadn't been able to resist when she asked him to go out for the night. He's been talking about Dom and the kids and their little slice of normality, almost envious of each fantastic story Ariadne gives him of heists. 

She's grown, more woman now than she was then, and Arthur remembers kissing her. He thinks he could now; he could just lean in and press his mouth to hers, place his hand on the arch of her ribs and possibly go back to her room for the night. She smiles like she knows what he's thinking, and Arthur has to look away.

Ariadne pays, even though Arthur argues with her, and helps him back to the house, her weight warm and familiar at his side. She smells of lilacs and the ever-present clinicalness of Somnacin that never really leaves one's skin. 

"You should say something to him," Ariadne says when they reach the front door. She kisses his cheek and finds the right key on his little ring for him before leaving. Arthur is sick on the steps, but it's clean before the children wake in the morning.

\---

Dom doesn't ask questions. It's usually nice. Arthur dislikes having to explain himself, and Cobb respects it. But this once, Arthur would like him to ask _why are you here? Why did you stay?_

And Arthur would answer, _because I've loved you since I was young._

\---

Thanksgiving finds them all at the Cobb house; Marie and Miles of course, and Eames in from Scotland for a few days. Phillipa has a crush on him and follows him like a puppy, her small face as eager as Dom's is pained. Arthur and James find the whole thing rather hilarious.

It's over turkey and potatoes that Eames speaks up, his voice too earnest to be goading when he says, "So how long have you two been together, then?"

Arthur blanches as Marie coughs, her mouth a tight line on her wrinkled face. Arthur can't bring himself to look at Dom, but his face must say something because Eames chokes down his food and apologizes with all the forced manners of his upbringing.

After pie- an unfortunately awkward affair- Arthur escapes to the balcony with a glass of wine. It is here, of course, that Eames finds him. 

"You really do look like the happy little family down there," he says as he lights up a cigarette. The smoke smells acrid over the crispness of the air. Eames looks at Arthur from the corner of his eye and breathes out a smoke ring. "Maybe you should be."

"Maybe you should mind your own business," Arthur says tersely. Eames laughs and offers Arthur the cigarette. It tastes of ash, burning Arthur's lungs as he sucks it in. He hasn't smoked in over a year, and when he hands it back he can't say he's missed it.

They stand outside until Arthur's fingers go numb with the cold. Eames hugs him goodbye and gives him an offer that makes Arthur's ears go pink. A year or so ago, Arthur might have gone along with it, but now-

"See you at the wedding, then," Eames says and skips out before he can be any more of a bother. As usual, he's left chaos behind him for Arthur to clean up.

\---

Arthur's having a dream- a real dream, away from drugs and IVs, all his own mind. Dom's there, his face close by, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Arthur reaches for him- if he's dreaming he might as well enjoy it- and is surprised when he feels the rough scratch of stubble against his palm. Dom's eyes slide closed, and there's a freckle in the corner of his eye that Arthur's never seen, and this is not a dream.

"You never leave," Dom says against the cup of his hand, breath warm and familiar. His adams' apple bobs, and Arthur's world finally stops spinning. 

"I hadn't planned on it," he says, voice caught in his throat. "Okay," Dom says, sinking down like a weight's been lifted from him. "Okay."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [wanting to be (coming home remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4175841) by [thinkatory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkatory/pseuds/thinkatory)




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